


Where the Heart Is

by Claus_Lucas



Series: Where The Heart Is [1]
Category: Mother 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Family Dynamics, Family of Choice, Gen, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8783620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claus_Lucas/pseuds/Claus_Lucas
Summary: After running away from home, Lucas learns to live in the apartment of a butch with a heart of gold and the guy that feed every stray animal in the neighborhood.At some point they start talking like they're Lucas's parents.





	

**Author's Note:**

> why pay 200 dollars for therapy when i can write this fic and pretend my own family issues are resolved

This is his first time wearing suspenders. Duster got them for him, along with the dress pants and shirt. He called it a “congratulations present” but really Lucas should be the one to thank him for the job. And the tutoring, and three meals a day, and the bed he sleeps on, and the apartment he's been freeloading from for nearly a year now. Duster, however, never accepts what Lucas scraps together to try to pay him back, neither money nor objects.

“When you can actually afford to give things away,” Duster always says, “then I'll accept, gladly.”

Hopefully working at the bar will help Lucas collect enough funds to treat his friends. Finding a place of his own is pretty much out of the question since he's underage and technically ran away from his legal guarding, but at the very least Lucas would like to make their ragtag way of living a bit more comfortable. The cleaning isn't anything special, cooking is just using what Duster and Kumatora buy with their hard work and time. Lucas aims to offer something special, the sort that earns him a comment like “Only _you_ would think of this!” That's the ultimate compliment when you live with someone as reckless and spontaneous as Kumatora.

They value his company, Lucas knows that. Pity alone didn't make them open their door for the wet, shivering mess that he was on the day they met. Neither was it enough for them to proceed to nurture him to health for the following four months. Perhaps the sight of him stumbling like an injured doe fleeing a loaded gun did strike a chord with their heartstrings, compelled them to wipe the mud from his face and wrap blankets around his body. But after that initial collapse on their couch, there was so much work to be done before he could stand on his feet again, and at any point they could've cut their losses and dumped him back into the wilderness. The fact that they didn't speaks volumes, shades far deeper than mere pity.

And there's still more to be done, whole rituals and routines to get Lucas through a single day without breaking down. It's no secret that their worst fear is discovering that he's retraced his footsteps to the den of foxes that first bit him, left them and their hospitality because the rattling of abuse can never quite be ripped from his bones. He's tried, and he's ashamed, but he's getting better at controlling his self-sabotaging impulses. It's hardest when he can't contribute beyond his presence because he's constantly feeling like he's dipping into the territory of being tolerated rather than appreciated. But Lucas knows Kumatora's philosophy, and it's honestly a comfort despite its harshness: “Don't pet a stray that you don't plan to take home, don't feed them today if you can't afford to do it tomorrow.” Duster and Kumatora are the brand of school dropout, lower class workers, disowned-by-their-families, social outcasts that really and truly can't promise anyone shelter, not a pet, occasionally not even each other. Yet their minds were made a long time ago to never kick Lucas out. If he ever goes back to the streets, it'll be when neither of them can afford to pay the rent anymore.

This is because, up until Lucas debuted in their lives, they were in need of a third. They represent a dysfunctional family structure but their dynamics still far exceed the toxic environments that served as the backdrops to their upbringings. There is a tender hint amidst the fierceness with which Kumatora pries Lucas's fingers from his throat during a violent episode that she only could've learned from no one doing the same for her when she was his age. Lucas has told plenty of people about his father (he can be pretty open about his past for someone that carries a fake name on a fake ID) and there's always some degree of sympathy in response, but understanding? Only Duster gets that faraway look in his eyes while his facial features become forcibly stern, secret feelings stashed between laughter lines of both the happy and bitter kind. Then he walks around all stiff and slightly disorientated for a while, smiling to avoid being verbally engaged. There is no doubt in Lucas's mind that, their individual quirks aside, he and his companions are vastly and tragically similar; and while they would not wish their histories on anyone, they find tremendous comfort in knowing that those with matching scars are at least sticking together.

Three is a good amount. It's a crowd in the sense that it's safe but not in that it’s overwhelming. If you can't talk to one about something then you have the other to help. When two go too far the third is present to point it out, mediate between both sides. Lucas is the baby brother that they rocked and fed for four months, then they taught him to walk, discovered he could talk, the whole package. Almost like parenting, except Lucas isn't an infant, he just needs a supportive hand to nudge him forward when he's paralyzed. Everything was still inside but trauma had sealed his ribcage so the heart could not leak out. Their role was as to habilitate, knocking with gentle fists until there was, finally, an answer.

“Your first words,” Kumatora is fond of boasting, “were ‘Thanks for the blanket’! Took you a little bit of incoherent mumbling but then you spat it out like you'd been saving it since day one!”

Duster looks at her and raises a quizzical eyebrow. "His first words were ‘where am I?’ You weren't home for it,” he says.

Kumatora scowls at him, dismissing it every time. She likes her version of that story best.

The depth of their attachment is obvious, even to strangers. Lucas is one of them: a member of their makeshift family. There was life before him, just as there was a time when Duster and Kumatora negotiated the world alone, but envisioning a future where any of them vanishes from the others’ radar is presently impossible. Even if Lucas has been unable to work until today, even if housing him has meant less hours of sleep and more of stressing over the abysmal tips they earn, there is truly no price on friendship as far as they're concerned. As long as they manage to squeeze by, Lucas’s place is with them.

Getting hired at the bar is good news. Duster says that Lucas has potential for better but they should play it safe and start where Duster and Kumatora can overlook his progress. Lucas has zero job experience and already knows most of the bar patrons from hanging around during his friends’ shifts. Despite its rowdy atmosphere (and the fact that his employment is illegal) this should be the right space for Lucas to transition. After all, he has two mentors with years of being waiters behind them.

Kumatora's head waitress and an iron keeper of order, but she has a talent for reading the feelings and intentions of others, so she's good at gauging when she should act gentle and when her coworkers need a dose of ushering. Lucas has watched her chaperone the younger waiters around and he's sure that she'll push him as far as he can take it.

Duster started off as a waiter as well, putting in a good word so Kumatora could join the business after they became friends. Wasn't long, however, before he was discovered by a group of musicians that frequented the bar. They were thinking about putting together a show to try out there and it turned out that Duster could secure the permission to do it. So they banded together, composed a few songs, and chose Duster as their bass player. They call themselves the DCMC, though Duster says that it's just nonsense they came up with on the spot and the letters don't stand for anything. Lucas watches all of their performances, even the few that they've been invited to do elsewhere.

Part of being a waiter at this particular bar is having the ability to entertain – it's practically in the job description. People pay half for the alcohol, the rest is just to hear what interesting stories others have gathered to share. When the audience turns to their supplier, a waiter should be prepared to deliver. It's really the best way of procuring sustainable tips.

Lucas isn't expected to do this right off the bat but he's been watching Kumatora. She's a natural with her myriad of adventures, stacked in such an order that each sounds more extravagant than the last. A crowd always forms around whoever asks her for an anecdote. Unlike other waiters, she doesn't have to remember who she's told which story because she never needed to repeat anything. As a bonus, there's that dramatic flair in her expositions that makes people wonder why isn’t studying to be an actress.

“Are you ready?” Duster calls from behind the counter.

Lucas scrambles out of the bathroom, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear that just springs right out the moment he lets go of it. Duster notices the boy's agitated expression, all flustered and glistening with sweat. He's like a child on his first day of school, except he's extra confused because he doesn't have a parent to hide behind.

“Ah, well, there isn't any rush, really,” Duster clarifies, “I just wanted to go over some stuff before you start.”

Lucas nods.

* * *

Lucas turns out to follow in the footsteps of both his mentors. He navigates the evening by scrawling instructions across his arms, consulting Kumatora whenever she’s unoccupied, and predicting how many glass bottles he can stack on his tray before they threaten to topple. He lists information with the blandness of a text book, then chokes when he’s asked something that he wasn’t taught to answer during training. The high ranges that his voice can reach while nervous are a bit of a problem –especially when it splinters into a bout of stuttering– but he remembers to smile and giggle at the conclusion of most sentences. His fort seems to be memorizing tables and orders, which is a valuable asset. There are no complaints from the customers so he’s in the clear.

“Not bad for your first time, cub! ‘Course, not as good as me, but we can’t be setting you up against such high standards,” Kumatora jokes.

Later into the night, when the DCMC’s concert is at full blast, OJ asks for a participant from the audience. Kumatora wastes no time in nudging Lucas forward with her shoulder, leading to Lucas stumbling in such a manner that his outstretched arms actually look like he’s volunteering. He tries to explain the misunderstanding but OJ misses it entirely while commending Lucas for his bravery. Duster plays along, too, grabbing Lucas by the hands and hoisting him onto the stage. Then Lucas gets about ten seconds to decide whether he wants to sing or try his hands at one of their instruments. He’s never experimented with music before so he blurts out whatever’s closest to the tip of his tongue, which turns out to be the former option. Duster slides a microphone into Lucas’s fingers and it is clear that there’s no weaseling out of this one.

It’s hard to gauge his natural talent when the majority of the crowd is drunk but they seem excited enough to hear him sing. The moment Lucas finishes the only song whose lyrics he knows, OJ eagerly prompts him for seconds. Thus round two is an absolute improvised mess where Lucas might have invented a new word or two. Nonetheless, everyone loves it.

“We better watch our backs, or you’re gonna replace us both!” Kumatora yells during their trek home. It’s followed by a boisterous laugh that doesn’t understand the concept of “it’s too late at night to be making a ruckus in the middle of a neighborhood.”

Duster has a little chuckle of his own. He’s notably more animated than most work nights and it’s lifting the whole atmosphere. It’s always a party whenever Duster keeps a steady smile.

“Well, you know what they say about students surpassing their teachers,” says Duster.

Kumatora slaps him on the back, triggering a stagger (it’s almost impossible for her to touch someone without at least shoving them a little) but Duster quickly recalibrates his balance by concentrating his weight on the better leg. Grabbing him by the neck with just two fingers, Kumatora shakes him. Duster doesn’t mind because he knows it’s a gesture of affection.

Kumatora’s hands return to her pockets. She’s changed out of her waitress uniform and into something more comfortable: jean pants and jacket with a clusterfuck of buttons in front. An introspective expression glosses over her features, eyebrows arched as if in surprise, then twisted.

“I’ve been wondering who he’d turn out more like,” she muses.

Curiosity sparks in Lucas’s gaze when he glances at Kumatora. She seems too unfocused to notice him right then.

“I know what you mean,” answers Duster, “but you have such a dominating personality – I was sure you’d be the biggest influence.”

Kumatora knocks her fists against her hips, blowing air out of her mouth like she’s shrugging off a sketchy statement.

“He’s always been more like you, though! You’re the quiet and sensitive type, and did you hear him tonight? He’s a natural born musician. Sound like anyone else we know, hmm?” she hollers.

Neither adult is touching Lucas but he has the inexplicable sensation of being smothered. He does not like it. A ball is racing down a hill that he should’ve caught and now he’s just watching from the top.

His gaze returns to the pavement.

“Yeah, that’s why he looks up to you,” Duster argues, “you can help guide him out of his shell. _You’ll_ teach him how to make the best of both worlds. He might miss out on basic socializing skills if it’s just me.”

Kumatora flashes him a lopsided grin, all of her front canines in bright display.

“And you know perfectly well that he’s bound to break every bone in his body if you leave him alone with me for a week,” is her retort.

Lucas spies the building where their apartment is located but he doesn’t think either of his companions have noticed it. He feels inclined to say something before they walk right past it, yet his jaws are sealed shut and his arms have started to shake. He recognizes the dreadful cadence of his palpitations now – It’s that gross and panic-inducing realization that people are talking about him like he’s not present.

They’ve said nothing bad, and yet, and yet – Lucas just can’t tolerate being talked about like he’s not present. It’s one of those situations that function like an itch on a hidden wound. Phantom pains are the worst. Eventually he’s got to scratch and the whole mess is there again.

“At least he’s kind like you,” Duster says.

Kumatora paints her face with a scowl, but it melts into a rare glimpse of undiluted affection.

“I was just about to say, at least he’s kind like _you_ ,” answers Kumatora.

Lucas doesn’t perceive the ground drawing nearer, he just feels it when his body collapses: the freezing dirt, pebbles scraping his skin, dust inhaled by his nostrils. The inside of his head aches. Water trickles out of the corners of his eyes. He coughs. But standing doesn’t come as a reflex.

Lucas hears Duster and Kumatora shout yet whatever is said is lost in the moment, details he won’t be able to recall in the future. They both kneel on the floor to try to help him up. Kumatora hooks an arm under Lucas’s while Duster grabs Lucas by the abdomen. Together they lift him into a standing position, supporting his body on each side since he clearly hasn’t regained his balance yet.

Silence reigns for a while. Home is right in front of them but the group has stopped walking and their focus is entirely on Lucas. He’s back in their bubble. The concern is skyrocketing his apprehension.

 

Coincidences and casualties have pushed a memory to the foremost section of his mind. It isn’t much, really. More like a memory of a memory, since he hadn’t developed self-awareness when the original event happened.

Lucas’s mother loved talking about her children (all mothers do, no?). The catch was that she always had to start at, well, the beginning: her first glimpse of them, their first day at home, their first words, their first tantrums – all the firsts babies have. Lucas usually got embarrassed and left midway through the stream of anecdotes but he always managed to hear about Hinawa’s first couple of days in the hospital. Hinawa was quick to leap into her favorite parts, and anyone listening could tell how fond she was because of the dramatic influx in her voice. Her conversation with Flint right after the twins were born sticks out the strongest in Lucas’s memory.

They were discussing what their children would be like once they grew up. Hinawa had handed Claus to Flint and was rubbing her nose against Lucas’s, making the infant giggle with pleasure. A smile curled one side of Flint’s mouth. Claus was fast asleep, which is why Lucas can at least claim to have _witnessed_ the moment, even if he had no way of understanding it.

“I want them to be kind like you,” Flint said.

Hinawa gasped, surprising the baby Lucas. He waved his hands and whined when Hinawa lifted her head. She stared at her husband.

“I was just about to say… I want them to be kind like _you_ ,” she murmured.

They both started to laugh.

 

“You were talking like you’re my parents,” Lucas says.

They’ve sat down on a bench. Now all of them are aware of their apartment looming in front but no one has the desire to go inside quite yet.

Kumatora frowns. She tries to wave the tension away but really she just stirs it up like a hurricane.

“Hah, look at us – barely known you for a year and we’re talking like it’s been a lifetime!” she exclaims.

Just Lucas’s left leg was bouncing up and down but now both of them are. He keeps rubbing his hands, like they’re cold, but the weather’s lukewarm. His nervous tics are all over the place.

“I wish it had been a lifetime,” he murmurs.

Alarm swarms Kumatora’s expression. Careful to not touch Lucas, she reaches behind him to prod Duster. The look she shoots him says, “ _You’re_ the quiet and sensitive type! Help him!”

Duster tries to think sensibly about what he can say. They’ve clearly messed up in some way but Lucas doesn’t seem to expect an apology. Their mistake might only exist in the absence of clarification. A ball is racing downhill that neither of them prepared to catch at the bottom.

“Lucas, you know that Kumatora and I also ran away from,” Duster says, then has to pause for a moment.

“Home. Our previous homes,” he concludes.

Lucas stands up. His back’s hunched to hide his head, palms squeezing his thighs to try to stop the whole of him from trembling.

“No, it was,” he says, but loses the thread of his idea. He’s floundering rather frantically through the labyrinth that is language.

“It was… not bad. I mean. Maybe it was bad. I probably shouldn’t have felt like I did. But it was nice. I was happy for a moment.”

Kumatora tilts her head, arms crossed over her chest.

“Why’d the nice feeling stop?” she asks.

Lucas turns a little, enough to see her, but he won’t establish eye contact.

“I remembered,” he begins but there’s something stopping him again.

Hesitation has crawled up his throat like bile. It makes speaking akin to the pain that precedes regurgitation. Every word is a risk but he also feels so sick that it just needs to happen and be over with. He only wishes he didn’t have to throw up in front of others.

“I remembered my mother,” Lucas says. There’s a pain in his voice that’s trying to heal by force, through salt and alcohol rubbed right into it; “she said something similar. About us being kind. She wanted us to be kind, too.”

“Us?” Kumatora asks.

Lucas flinches. He hasn’t told them about Claus. They don’t know anything about his family.

That was careless. Dangerous, even. Lucas isn’t ready for that conversation yet.

“Never mind,” he says, grabbing his forehead with one hand and digging his nails into his scalp, “never mind, forget that. Ugh, this is all so stupid.”

Kumatora and Duster can hear him sobbing.

“Hey, cub, listen,” Kumatora says, but she really doesn’t know how to follow up – all she possesses is that gut necessity to fix whatever colossal blunder their behavior habilitated.

“Don’t cry,” she tries, yet that’s selfish and unfair and she regrets it immediately.

She glances at Duster. He sucks in a breath of air.

“When I started taking care of Kumatora, and I mean when we _both_ started taking care of each other, because none of this is really ever one-sided,” Duster says, “we discovered that our lives somehow, well, _worked_ together. Like really worked together. We don’t always get along but our interactions aren’t dysfunctional. It’s hard to understand that something like that even exists when you’ve spent your whole life in a tiny, abusive box. We know, Lucas. We’ve been there: fresh out of the egg, inhaling air that doesn’t reek of rot for the first time, discovering the wilderness upfront and personally.”

Lucas is hugging himself. He’s not certain he can process what Duster is saying for much longer. His brain’s dipping precariously into full blown panic.

“We realize that you might feel like. Like someone is trying to… own you again.”

There’s a pause. Duster tries to stand up without making any noise.

“But that’s not us, Lucas. And don’t take my word for it: be the judge of it yourself. Trust takes time. You can take all the time in the world if you want to.”

That certainly hits the nail on the head of why being talked about like he’s not present bothers Lucas, but that isn’t why he’s so riled up now. His animosity is of the purely self-directed brand. But it gets lonely and inadequate when he hates himself for too long. Sometimes he has to try to show others why they should hate him, too.

“I was happy because you were treating me as if we were family. But that’s silly. We all left our families, didn’t we? We sacrificed that. We don’t get to trade them for new ones,” Lucas says.

Kumatora lets out a snort. Her lips have formed a snarl.

“That’s where you got it wrong, cub,” Kumatora says, “of course we get a second chance at family. And a third, and a fourth, and a fifth – however many it takes. I’ll have you know that my last home wasn’t the first one I ran away from. Oh, no, I’ve been running since I realized I could jump out of a moving car and survive!”

Kumatora grabs Lucas by the shoulder and forces him to turn around. Lucas stares, his face a crossroad between anger and confusion. There’s melancholy, too, rooted like an intrusive thought that won’t leave.

“I picked up some of Kumatora’s habits pretty quickly,” says Duster, then chuckles, “strange, I know, but it’s true – and she got some from me, too.”

By lifting his head, Lucas can see Duster and Kumatora smiling. It’s such a makeshift attempt, like they’re trying it out for the first time, not used to it at all. You learn something new every day.

“I guess what we’ve been wondering is what you’ll take from hanging around us. We’re aware that we aren’t the ideal role models. But we’re hoping that you’ll get the best of what we have to offer. We’re glad you did well tonight. We’re glad you got to sing with the band, too. We’re… proud of you, Lucas.”

Lucas bites his tongue. He has the incredible urge to repeat one of the words Duster used, to hear it articulated in his own voice. An attempt to confirm it’s real and he understands the proper meaning of it.

“That’s,” Lucas says.

He knows they know what’s on his mind and they know that, too.

“It’s all right to say it. Everything starts with saying,” Duster assures.

Lucas unclasps his teeth from his tongue. There’s the sharp taste of blood, then it’s gone.

“That’s nice. Hearing that. I haven’t heard the word ‘proud’ in a long time,” says Lucas.

He inhales and his lungs feel like they’re expanding for the first time in hours. Blood circulates through his head that actually relieves some of the migraine. He can’t tell if he’s dodged the storm or standing on the edge of its eye, about to be crushed between its force. Either way he feels calm. There’s a moment to not pound his fists on some invisible, locked door.

“Lucas, are you okay?” Kumatora asks.

Lucas looks at her. He won’t lie. Maybe, for once, she would take a lie without wrestling the truth out of him, but he won’t do that. His teeth chatter a bit.

“I’m not okay,” he says, “but that’s all right. Probably. Maybe. Actually, it doesn’t make sense at all, to not be okay but be all right at the same time.”

Lucas laughs, still nervous but on his way to something else. He’s realizing that this is all a part of a system that’s three dimensional and shifting, never quite as simple as it appears on the surface, never quite resolved with the same key twice.

Kumatora and Duster keep their grim but hopeful expressions. They smile, slight and encouraging but nothing demeaning towards Lucas’s feelings. It’s his turn to decide what he should feel, not follow the example of others. They watch. They listen. It’s his turn.

Lucas does end up breaking down, on his knees and dripping tears and snot all over himself, but it comes naturally. He chooses to throw up. He feels better afterwards. There are no regrets to prickle him in the morning.

* * *

At the end of his first month working in the bar, Lucas uses his money to treat his friends to the theater. There’s an outdoor one in town that projects films onto humongous screens. Lucas was taken to a similar place when he was a child and it left a lasting impression. He can recall sitting on a picnic blanket, gazing up with marvel at the array of moving pictures and color while Claus cried because he couldn’t reach them with his tiny hands. Hinawa always baked nut bread before such excursions and they got to eat it directly on the blanket, without plates or forks.

Kumatora hasn’t watched a movie in years that wasn’t on their little television set but she has a sort of gregarious attitude towards the idea, in part because Lucas keeps insisting on using the term “theater,” which is far fancier sounding than the actual venue.

As soon as Lucas has given her a date and time, she’s pulling clothes out of his closet and throwing them on the ground. She scavenges through the heap once more before delivering her verdict.

“You need a new outfit,” she says.

Then a smirk stretches Kumatora’s lips. She squeezes Lucas’s shoulder.

“It’s my turn to buy you some clothes,” she says.

The dress shirt and pants are a catchall for formal occasions but the key word here is “special,” not “formal.” For someone that cycles through the same cluster of outfits every week, Kumatora surprises Lucas with her vast and meticulous opinions on pretty much every type of fashion. She believes in dressing distinctly for each occasion.

There’s no way she’d force him to wear something that he obviously doesn’t want to, but Kumatora has sensed since their first shopping trip that Lucas is the sort of person that follows the same pattern until he’s taught that he can sew something different. She’s already expanded his interest in unorthodox food combinations and low budget alien novels – how much more can she get her grimy fingers on?

“You gotta set the mood for _yourself_ ,” says Kumatora, “don’t think about how you look to others. Go for what you enjoy in the same way that you’ll enjoy tomorrow.”

Duster stays completely out of it. He’s just as surprised as bystanders in the street when he sees Lucas sporting a pair of denim overalls with a knee length skirt. There’s a small bouquet of daisies that Kumatora picked tucked into his chest pocket. The shirt underneath is a baby blue and coral pink version of his usual stripes.

“You look like you’re ready for a picnic,” says Duster.

“That’s what _I_ told him!” Kumatora hollers.

Her hands are busy attaching a clip-on bow to Lucas’s hair. Once she’s finished, she contemplates it for a moment.

“Sure you don’t want the hat, cub?” Kumatora asks.

Lucas shakes his head. The long strands of the ribbon tickle his ear.

“No one wears a sunhat to a night event,” Lucas says.

Kumatora’s shoulders rise and fall.

“Well, I’m not taking off my glasses,” she says, referring to the dark shades perched over her nose.

Lucas chuckles, then says, “they’re a part of your ‘butch attire,’ of course you won’t.”

Kumatora elbows him while snorting.

Duster has been gathering plastic containers and the like in the center of the table and the other two finally notice.

“What’s all this for?” Kumatora asks.

“There’s no reason why we _can’t_ have a sort of picnic,” answers Duster.

He removes a basket from one of the cabinets. Everything in their kitchen is either leftovers from reheated frozen food meals (anything Lucas cooks is consumed on the spot) and packaged goods that require no preparation, but an honest attempt is being made at simulating the outdoor family bonding experience. Perhaps there’s no homemade nut bread but even generic fast food brands gain a unique flavor when Kumatora mixes them together.

The movie is one Lucas has seen before, yet it’s an entirely new experience with Kumatora and Duster by his side – one of them can’t help joking after every scene, while the other has such a keen eye for detail that he absolutely has to share. Lucas will remember it much better after tonight.

They scatter their possessions across an old quilt that Lucas had stashed in his backpack when Duster and Kumatora found him. Lucas gets to lie on it for a few hours before they pack up to head home.

Afterwards, he does earn a “Only _you_ would think of this!” from Kumatora.

**Author's Note:**

> and then lucas gets attached to one of the stray dogs duster feeds and names him boney and he sleeps on lucas's bed every night


End file.
